Even Model Employees Make Unwise Decisions
by printfogey
Summary: He shouldn't have gone out drinking with his coworkers from the Justaway Factory that night. A figure from a past he can't remember has turned up, and won't leave him in peace. What if Gintoki had run into Takasugi during the time he had amnesia? A rather messed-up Gintoki/Takasugi shortfic.


AUTHOR'S NOTES: I happened to start pondering what might have happened if Gintoki had happened to run into Takasugi back in the Amnesia Arc, in those days when he had lost his memory, was disgusted about what he heard of himself, and left Odd Jobs to become a factory worker making Justaways. And he'd also forgotten how to fight (or at least, he forgot the fact that he is a very strong fighter).

This is what I came up with. It turned out shippy, but not in any happy way: this is early-series Takasugi, and I found it hard to picture him reacting more benevolently.

DISCLAIMER: These characters are owned by their creator Hideaki Sorachi. They are used here without permission only. The content in this fic is for entertainment only and may not be used for profit in any way. It should not be reposted elsewhere without the writer's consent, particularly not to any site using ad revenue.

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Sakata knows this was a bad idea. He shouldn't have agreed to go out drinking in this bar, even if it's Sunday tomorrow and the factory will be closed. He should have left when his coworkers did, not stay a little longer to finish his drink. And he should definitely have tried harder to avoid the notice of the man who sits across the table from him now, drinking and smoking, currently in silence.

The man is wearing a monk's get-up, the broad-brimmed hat he came in with placed on the table now. But he's slipped and showed glimpses of fine, expensive-looking silk worn underneath the monk robe: Sakata hadn't thought his old self knew any rich people. It's unsettling. Everything about this man is unsettling: the bandages that cover one of his eyes; his easy, casual posture; his deep voice as he spoke earlier, radiating hostility; his initial maliciously sly expression; and how it changed into an unsmiling, blanker, less readable expression that seems even more menacing, once he realized Sakata wasn't lying about losing his memory.

When Sakata finally gets up and leaves the man follows, his steps sounding easy, unhurried, yet relentless. He doesn't _want_ to remember this one. Just thinking he might do so makes him feel like there's a mass of cold air that goes through his spine, and something twists deep in his stomach.

They haven't gone long when the man suddenly grabs hold of Sakata and shoves him violently up against a wall. His fingers are digging into Sakata's flesh, his muscles tremendously strong. His eye is wild, now, no longer calm like in the bar, burning with fury –- no, it's more than fury. Hatred.

"How pathetic are you, Gintoki? You've even forgotten how to fight." the man snarls. A savage smile flashes over his face; his hand lands over Sakata's throat, tightens. "I could kill you so easily when you're like this. So – very – easily. Do you know that?" He loses the smile, leaning closer, standing on his toes. "Is there a part of you who understands that?" Then he loosens the grip on the throat, instead grabbing hold of one of his arms, twisting it – Sakata yelps from the pain and surprise – and elbows him in the stomach, before smashing him against the wall again.

"Oh, it's so nice to go and lose your memory like that, isn't it?" he goes on in a mocking tone. "Just get lost in the mist and not have to be yourself. As if you have the fucking right to." His voice loses the mocking tone as he spits, "How dare you, Gintoki! How dare you go and hide yourself in your mind like this!"

Sakata doesn't understand. All he gets is this: he must have once hurt this man terribly. Maybe it was complicated. Maybe it was mutual. But despite the pain from the man's rough treatment, the fear has receded. What he feels the strongest now is an odd sense of obligation.

The only thing he can think of to do is to grab the man by his shoulders, lift him up and kiss him. He tastes of expensive tobacco and cheap beer. He doesn't smell unpleasant.

After he lets go, the man stares at him for a moment, then closes his eyes and gives a short laugh, not a pleasant one. Sakata has the time to wonder if he just signed his own death warrant. Then the man kisses him back, violently, biting him. One hand pins Sakata in place against the wall, the other starts roaming under his jacket and shirt, pinching and stroking.

"I'll show you," the man mutters. "I'll fucking show you you can't just do that."

Sakata feels a jolt of arousal mingled with pain and opens his mouth to accepts another rough kiss. He doesn't protest, and when he's allowed to move, he applies what gentleness he can.

He's sure his former self would be appalled at his meekness. It occurs to him to wonder if that man really is deep inside his mind now, if he can see this happening, can sense it. He finds, spitefully, that he wants him to.


End file.
